The Freelancer Initiative: Tales from Earth-636
by Gumby1011
Summary: This is the story of a world where beloved characters from vastly divergent universes are fused. Here, Doctor Leonard Church runs S.H.I.E.L.D, Agent Butch Flowers used to collect Captain America cards, and the Juggernaut is the embodiment of a god named Sigma. Welcome to Earth-636. Enjoy your stay. *Spin-off of The Freelancer Saga by The Freelancer Collaboration.
1. Butch Flowers: Agent of SHIELD

Hi, there! My name is Butch Flowers. I've worked for the division for something like twenty years now, and I'm _super _pumped for our mission today. After today I get to go on an all-expense paid trip back to the good ol' US on the division's money. Better yet, I'll be going there in the company of none other than Captain America himself, in the flesh! I still remember back when I was little, I used to have the full set of trading cards; this guy was my _childhood hero_. If only I had them with me, bet I could even get them signed!

Oh, but maybe I should start from the beginning: You see, a couple of months back, fellow agent Carol and I got assigned to a particularly mysterious mission in the UK. We get to do secret agent type stuff all the time, but I'd personally never been to the homeland of James Bond and the like before, so I was very excited. We were supposed to investigate the source of the recent rash of super-science based villains in the isles recently. You see, most of the time, these super-science types? They have to home-grow all their science, right? They know how it works, they know how to use it, and they know how it's best applied.

But all the kiddos running around England with disintegrator guns and freeze rays and lasers and jetpacks, they looked like they carried these spiffy, designer type items. Reminded me of those old toy ray-guns I used to have as a kid. But anyways, they had a level of tech that they really, really weren't supposed to. And to make matter worse, some of them probably didn't even read the manuals, because the tech kept going on the fritz. Dad always used to say, "If you want to grow something right, there's no substitute for getting your own two hands dirty." Guess that extends to science too, huh?

Anyways, Carol and I traced the tech back to the source; turns out a couple of mutants had managed to get their hands on a shipment of Hydra technology. One the up side, my partner and I were able to mop up those thugs lickety-split! On the downside, we now knew we had a Hydra branch to deal with. So we were able to pick up a few leads, and eventually hunted down their main base of operations to an isolated island off the coast of Wales. But you see, Hydra isn't the kind of group you can just charge at, guns blazing, and expect to be done with them. No sirree Bob, you need to have quite a bit of backup if you want to catch _these _rapscallions.

That's where the Captains come in.

I'd known all about Captain America, of course, but it came as quite the ol' surprise when I met Captain Britain! Oh, and it turns out he prefers to be called Union Jack. Funny, that. It looks like the two have quite the history, stretching all the way back to World War Two. I tell ya, it's not too often that I end up working with people that have more experience than I do! But we'd sorely need it: Hydra works with the goal to prove that the only people who deserve to run society are those strong enough to take it by force. And that's just silly. Be that as it may, it means that only the meanest, toughest soldiers and officers get accepted into their ranks. But that shouldn't mean much to the living symbol of good-ol'-fashioned American determination! We're all set to conduct a raid on the Island, and hopefully dig up whatever secrets Hydra's trying to hide from the boys back home. I'll finish this mission log afterwards. Flowers out!

* * *

The quartet sat in the small, black, tarp-covered boat, the inky sky stretching out across the top of the windshield and the pitch-black waves extending in all directions, riding more or less in silence. The red-headed woman in the hard-to-name-shade-of-bluish-green bodysuit leaned forward and tapped on the driver's shoulder. "Butch?"

Butch Flowers, a man in a suit with a blue jacket and slacks glanced back at the woman. "What can I do ya for, Carol?"

Caroline looked at the small radar display on the console. "How much longer?"

The driver shrugged. "I'm chugging right along. Problem is avoiding all the mines, you see. Whole place is just lousy with the little stinkers!" He smiled. "But hey, we're almost through. Shouldn't be _too _much longer."

"Jolly good," one of the other two passengers quipped. This man was garbed in a stark white bodysuit with black lines outlining a Union Jack motif across the chest. He had neatly trimmed black hair along with a glorious matching mustache. At the moment he had taken an old-fashioned, bolt action rifle with full-length wooden furniture apart, and was carefully reassembling it with utmost care. "It's been far too long since I last shot a Jerry."

"Yeah, Reginald, it _has _been quite some time since you've fought these guys." The blonde man sitting across from Reginald seemed more on-edge than usual. He was clad in a violet bodysuit with green trim, his fingers tapping nervously on his trademark shield: a golden-hued metallic disk with a honey-comb pattern lining the surface. "I've been keeping track of them since the old days and trust me, they're a lot more than just Nazis with ray-guns now."

Reginald shrugged. "Well, it simply wouldn't be like the good old days if we didn't have some surprises in store for us, now would it, Steve?" His friend only returned a quick nod. The Brit frowned before leaning in a bit closer. "Don't worry, if she's here, we'll find her," he mumbled under his breath.

"And away we go!" Flowers piped from the front of the boat, the radar having cleared considerably. The small boat picked up speed, but not enough to make a noticeable amount of noise.

Caroline looked out the windshield and could see the island, a heavily fortified affair with high cliff-faced capped with smooth, perfectly-straight walls reaching even higher above the waves. Its resemblance to a cartoon-villain's lair would have probably been amusing were it not for the group housed within. She looked back into the boat at their two passengers. "Okay boys, we're now approaching the entry point. Masks on, and prep your grapple gloves, looks like the satellite intel was right. We're going straight up."

Everyone put their various identity-concealing item on: the captains pullet their suits' masks over their faces, Caroline put a gold, reflective domino mask over her eyes, and Flowers pulled a pair of round, silvery shades from his coat and put them on. Then wordlessly, Caroline handed out several pairs of grey gloves out among the operatives.

Flowers pulled the boat up right alongside the cliff-face and dropped the anchor, and pulled the tarp back from the top of the boat, revealing the black, starry sky. "Okey dokey then, who's first?" he asked looking around the boat.

"Is there ever really any doubt?" Reginald touted cheerily before slapping Rogers on the shoulder. The Captain rose from his seat and leapt the small gap between the boat and the cliff, his gloves clinging to the cliff face like it was made out of Velcro. The rest of the team soon followed in short order, slowly and stealthily climbing over first the craggy wall, and then the man-made barrier, slowly but surely reaching the top.

The four lined up just beneath the lip of the wall, everyone needing to wait a few moments for Flowers to catch up. The seasoned agent panted heavily as he took position besides Captain Brit- sorry,_Union Jack_. "How… do you two…_manage?"_he asked, half-grinning at the Brit.

"Years of training and talent, dear boy," the man answered. Flowers couldn't help but notice that the small lump indicating Reginald's mustache wiggled beneath his mask when he talked. It was just silly enough to coax his focus away from his aching arms for a moment.

Caroline tucked her feet between her chest and the wall and whispered into a small earpiece so her teammates could hear. "Now, breach on my mark… Mark!" the word had barely escaped her mouth before she kicked off the wall, swinging her legs out and flipping over the top of the wall, landing on her feet with catlike grace. Captain America was next up, not quite as showy as Caroline but still plenty quick in vaulting over the ledge.

Caroline drew a suppressed pistol and put a bullet through the head of a Hydra guard a couple yards away, and the Captain tossed his shield at a guard patrolling the opposite direction, knocking him out and rebounding the shield back to his arm. Union Jack finished the trifecta, pinning the closest guard to the ground, and pressing his rifle across the man's throat until he stopped struggling.

Flowers finished scrambling onto the top of the wall just as the last guard went limp. He stood up straight and dusted his jacket, although he was still breathing heavily. "Hoo boy…" he tugged at his shirt collar, "_That'll _really take the wind out of your sails." He took his gloves off and stowed them in his jacket, his sweaty hands needing some air.

Without a word between them, the team advanced a little further down the wall until they reached a steel hatch set in the floor. Caroline turned back to the rest of the team as they moved. "It won't be long until those three are missed," she surmised, opening and dropping down the hatch. "We're going to need to press the element of surprise for as long as we have it."

"Got it." Flowers reached inside his jacket and activated a small EM disruptor, a top-of-the-line jamming device that would dissolve even the sturdiest CCTV's data into a static-filled mess. "Surveillance taken care of, ma'am." Hardly a moment after he finished the sentence, a man in a Hydra uniform rounded a corner, further up the hallway. Flowers drew his taser and caught the guard square in the chest, sending him twitching to the ground. The agent reloaded the stun-gun without even breaking his stride.

Captain America stepped over the terrorist like one would a bump in the road. "Any idea where this weapons depot is? It's where we'll be most likely to find whoever's in charge around here."

Union Jack, who'd started lagging behind, returned to the group with a small fold of paper in hand. "That last guard had himself a grunt-level map of the place. I suggest we use that." He handed it over to Caroline. "Whatever's in those blacked-out spots is probably something they wouldn't trust a grunt with. Sounds like an interesting shopping destination, doesn't it?"

"That it does…" The red-haired agent pulled out a small camera and snapped a photo of the map, before taking a small wire and connecting the camera to Flower's shades. "How's that looking, Butch?"

"Mini-map's looking crystal clear, chief!" the agent nodded, the photo of the map appearing as a small map projected in his glasses. "Ready for navigation duty."

"Good." Caroline handed the map back to Reginald. "Flowers and I can take care of the weapons depot, but the Director's going to want to know whatever's in that blackout zone. You'll be visible as soon as you branch off, you two alright with that?"

The Captain nodded, half smiling as his English companion loaded his rifle. "I think we'll be able to manage. Keep in touch." He tapped the side of his head, where an earpiece sat inside his mask.

The agent nodded as she stopped at a metal hatch with a retinal scanner next to it. "Got it. Good luck." Captain and Jack proceeded down the hallway, disappearing around a corner just before Caroline inspected the lock. "Hm… looks to be pretty high-grade." She looked up at the ceiling and spotted a ventilation grate. It was bolted straight to the ceiling, making it nearly impossible to try getting inside. She shook her head and looked at Flowers. "You think they'd have learned by now."

He simply shook his head before grabbing a couple of small, disk-shaped explosives from inside his jacket. "Boy, kids today just don't plan ahead." He tossed them up where they stuck to the hatch, and covered his ears. The charges went off, blowing the grate down, so that a piece of it was hanging down into the hallway. "Here you go, open sesame!"

Caroline nodded before leaping up, grabbing onto the grate and swiftly pulling herself into the vent. As she vanished out of sight, Flowers pulled out a suppressed pistol, just in case. The charges were designed to minimize noise, but they were still explosives. It wouldn't be any stretch to imagine that one or two goons would hear them, then come and investigate.

As a matter of fact, it took maybe a minute for yet another green-and-yellow clad mook to round the corner of the hall and promptly receive a trio of bullets through the chest. A moment later a gloved hand reached around the corner, blind firing a submachine gun. Of course, since you need to_aim_to actually hit anything, the shots all went wide. Flowers frowned at both the shooter's poor form, and that the racket from his little outburst would be enough to call a good chunk of the base down on their heads!

Almost as if to confirm his suspicions, a klaxon started wailing, and several emergency lights began blinking along the corridor. Flowers dashed down the hallway while the shooter reloaded his now-empty weapon and whipped around the corner, neutralizing the guard with a well-placed shot at point blank. He jogged back to the hatch just as it hissed open, revealing half a dozen unconscious (or possibly dead) bodies and Caroline, who was currently pressing yet another thug's face against the retinal scanner on the other side of the door.

"Come on, we don't have much time now." She tossed the guard to the side and started running down the corridor, Flowers close on her heels.

* * *

Meanwhile, Captain America and Union Jack were absolutely _wading _through Hydra soldiers, who had been swarming them ever since they got out of the jammer's radius. It would seem as though the terrorists wanted to defeat the two costume-clad freedom-fighters as quickly as possible, and for good reason, too!

"Oh, come now, chaps, surely you can fight better than _this!_" Reginald shouted as he struck a soldier in the chin with the stock of his Mauser with a loud _crack_. Then he flipped around the rifle and put an expert shot through another man's forehead, before dodging behind his compatriot as a hostile took aim at him.

The soldier's weapon fired a bright blue bolt at the heroes, which Captain America reflected back at the offender with his shield, turning him into a scorched, skeletal figure. "Oh, man, I am so sorry!" the captain hollered. Truth be told, he was half serious.

The two fought through the corridors of the complex until they reached a large antechamber deep in the heart of the black-out zone on their map, as the stream of enemies slowed to a halt.

Cap looked around, not trusting the lull in the fighting for even one second. "Well, what do you make of this?" He gestured to a large steel set of double-doors embossed with a large skull-and-tentacle Hydra emblem.

"Our goal's behind it, obviously." Jack rolled his eyes as he walked up to the door. "You know, for a secret terrorist cell that's lasted for the better half of the century, you'd think they'd be a little more subtle in their base layouts." He walked up to the door, and rapped on it. "Knock knock!"

Almost immediately the doors swung open, unaided, with a mechanical hissing.

The two heroes glanced at one another, before walking through the doors. The duo was on full alert, not willing to take any chances that whatever they'd find here wasn't very mean and very deadly. The room could best be described as a sort of war room, with maps and combat statistics and satellite data feeds all streaming on large monitors suspended from the ceiling. In the center of it all was a large, holographic display projecting a globe.

Cap walked up to the globe, poking one of the red dots speckled across the map. A little red tag popped next to the dot, labeled "Nazca." He squinted at the image. "Looks like whatever they're up to here, they're planning a lot more than just gun running."

Reginald poked a few more lines on other spots on the globe. "Wiltshire, Giza… This one looks to be Korean. Terror targets, perhaps?"

"Close." The two men's eyes darted to where a blonde-haired woman now stood, garbed in an orchid-colored bodysuit with a green cape. She held a large chrome-plated weapon with an orange-glowing muzzle, and was pointing it at the two warriors. "Sorry boys, but I don't think I _like _you breaking into this house of mine. Now-" She racked the weapon, and the orange glow intensified. "I'm going to have to help you leave."

Captain America raised his hands in a submissive gesture. "It's alright, Brigitta. We don't have to do this." He took a slow, precarious step forward as the gun's barrel glowed. "Just put the gun down, we can help-"

"Help _what_?" Brigitta screamed, he stance widening a bit. "Help me go back, get arrested, serve a couple decades in prison, only to get out and end up playing second fiddle to 'The Great Captain America?'" The room was completely silent as she stood in place. Then a smile crossed her face. No, not a smile, the kind of sneer that a wolf makes before finishing its prey. "No thank you, I think I have a better idea than giving up my hard-earned status." She slowly walked over to a corner of the room. "Oh, and also, the name's _Viper _now."

She reached a pair of transparent stasis tube set into the wall, holding a man in a blue bodysuit and a man in a red bodysuit. The pair looked identical, save for their color difference. Viper keyed a set off commands with one hand, using the other to keep the gun trained on the captains. The fluid drained from both tubes, which quickly hissed open, and the two figures gasped to consciousness before collapsing onto the floor.

Viper suppressed a laugh before ordering, in her most authoritative voice: "Red." The man in the red bodysuit looked up at the two soldiers. Viper snapped her fingers with a sneer. "Kill them both."

Red bolted at the duo, but stopped short when Union Jack sent a bullet soaring into his forehead. The Brit chuckled as the red-clad minion fell. "Knock knock."

"Wh-Who'-sthe-ere?" Jack looked back at Red, only to see two identical, red-clad foes rising from the ground.

Reginald simply mumbled "Oh, bleeding hell," before cycling his rifle.

One Red charged at Captain America, screaming "HAIL HYDRA!"

Cap blocked his assailant's strike, before bashing the man's head with his shield. This only succeeded in coaxing another duplicate to fall out of Red One. This dupe lunged at the captain, catching him with a full-bodied tackle in the gut before shouting "IMMORTAL HYDRA!"

Meanwhile Reginald was busy fending off Red Two's blows. He intercepted a punch with the stock of his rifle, before flipping it around and delivering a bone-crushing blow to the hostile's leg. It merely stumbled before yet another duplicate fell out of Red Two. They both said, in unison, "Cut off a limb…"

Then all four, as one, shouted: "AND TWO MORE SHALL TAKE ITS PLACE!"

"Oh, well _that _won't get bothersome quickly!" Reginald quipped as he pushed his two foes back with his rifle. He dodged a swipe from a Red before rolling away from the two, in an attempt to get a moment to plan some sort of retaliation.

"Well then, if that'll be all…" Viper walked past the two fighting men as more and more Reds fell into existence. "I believe we have to clean up the shit storm your friends are causing. She stepped closer to Blue before twisting the ring on her hand, causing a shimmering golden field to envelop the two of them.

Cap, seeing this, charged through the four Reds blocking his path (spawning four more, incidentally). "NO!" he shouted, as he lunged into the field, a fraction of a second before a golden, honeycombed orb formed around the field and vanished from sight.

Reginald, meanwhile, was now stuck in a room with… 1, 2, 3… nine hostiles, with no way to incapacitate them that wouldn't make more. "Oh… Right…" he glanced between the members of the mob of hostiles before bolting for the door. "Ta, chaps!"

* * *

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the compound, Caroline and Flowers had located the next shipment of Hydra tech that was about to be shipped out. It was being loaded onto a large, twin-rotor helicopter, by a bunch of Hydra flunkies that were being protected by a sizeable security detail on a roof-top helipad. Fighting them did not take long.

Flowers heard Caroline shout "On your six!" Running purely on instinct he ducked under a blue-colored blast from a Hydra weapon before putting a bullet through the foes hand, then his chest. He scooted up to the hostile and held him by the neck between himself and a few more Hydra mooks. He put them on the ground with a flurry of _glacks!_

Caroline had disarmed her own bunch of assailants, and deftly bent backwards to avoid a meaty punch from one of them. She put her hands on the ground behind her head, flipped back, and brought her foot up into the offender's chin, before using her momentum to springboard off the floor. She sailed above the mook behind her and folded her legs before clamping them around his head, and then snapped his neck with a twist of her hips. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed off, before kicking the man's limp form into the last remaining mook.

She put a bullet through his head as she walked over him, towards where Flowers was just dropping his human shield. The older agent was panting, heavily, and clutching his side. "You get hit?" she asked with all the finesse of a hammer.

"Hm? Oh no, I'm a-okay, chief!" the older agent smiled as he started walking towards the now-unused helicopter. Now that they'd prevented the shipment, it was up to them to determine what was inside. "Besides, what else could happen? It's just cataloguing and exfil now, right?"

Before Flowers could even finish his sentence a golden, honey-colored orb appeared between him and the chopper. It hovered and hummed for a few moments before vanishing, spitting out Captain America, about three men dressed in blue, and a woman in an orchid bodysuit with a torn green cape. The latter glanced at the two agents before growling. "Are you fucking _serious?_" She punched in something quickly on one of her bracers, prompting a mighty shudder from the ground, before turning to the blue trio. "Blue! Take care of the baselines, NOW!"

The three Blues came charging at Butch and Caroline, all loading up punches before arrival. To kick things off, the male agent juked to the side before blasting his foe in the stomach with a quick-drawn pistol. When this made a duplicate, he punched the copy in the chin, breaking it and spawning yet another copy. "Oh, fiddlesticks!" He ducked back, dodging several blows and taking a good hit to the gut. Flowers staggered for a moment before leaping back from the Blues and retrieving some demolition disks from his jacket. "I've got presents, fellas!" He tossed them and stuck all three duplicates, vanishing them in a large cloud of smoke.

He glanced over at Caroline, who was fighting something like eight Blues at the moment. _Well, guess it's time to help the lady out!_

"Ow! 'nade spamming noob!" Butch glanced back at the voice, and saw no less than six Blues standing on the blackened patch when the disks had gone off._Oh, deary me!_

Meanwhile, Caroline was getting quite the workout, fighting the eight foes around her. She flipped and dodged and attacked whenever she got the chance, trying to find a way to incapacitate the Blues that wouldn't trigger the duplication process. She tried a strike to the temple. Nope, dupe. She grabbed one of their arms and bent it in such a way that she shattered bones. Nope, dupe. She tried pain stimulus, drop-kicking one in the solar plexus. Nope, two dupes. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Butch catch one of his dupes with a taser, bringing the foe to the ground…_without it duplicating._

"Butch! Looks like the dupes are impact driven! Keep tasing them!" she shouted, before quickly pressing a button on each of her wrist-gauntlets. A blue electrical arc began jumping between her fingers, and she put them to use with almost mechanical efficiency. She grabbed each of the dupes with only enough force to get a good grip, using each of them to swing out of range of their brethren's attacks while also stunning them.

Standing over the pile of blue figures, and starting to feel a little worn out, she looked over at Flowers. "How're you holding up, Butch?"

The agent, with all of his duplicates dealt with, offered a weak thumbs-up. Then he put his hands on his knees in yet another attempt to catch his breath. "Say…" He breathed, before looking at where Cap and Viper were fighting. "Where's Union Jack?"

Almost as if summoned, the white-clad hero burst from the stairwell to the helipad, being chased by a pack of red-wearing foes. "Um, a little hand here, gents?" he hollered as he ran.

* * *

Captain America had managed to disable Viper's weapon, sliced in half with his shield. Now the two were locked in a heated battle of martial skill. Not a word was spoken between the two. It wasn't necessary.

Viper came at Cap with a flying kick, striking him in the star on his chest. She huffed in disapproval and followed up with a right hook that Cap caught in his palm. He shook his head, a sad look on his face, and pulled her closer before bashing her with his shield and the extra momentum. She ducked beneath his follow-up kick, and grabbed his leg before flipping him onto the ground, belly-up.

She drew a knife, fire in her eyes, and tried to bring it down upon the star-spangled hero. He rolled out of the way, her knife shattering on impact with the concrete. The captain heard Caroline make a call over the radio, but he didn't register her words. He could swear the air had gotten thinner, but perhaps that was just nerves. He sprang back up on his feed and blocked an armor-clad fist with his shield, only to have his legs pulled from under him be a sweeping kick.

Viper smiled at the turn of events, and grabbed the captain by the neck as he fell. She'd put enough force in the grab to push his throat inwards a bit, and the captain saw stars. By the time he regained awareness, she was holding him up by the throat with both hands, and over the edge of the helipad. He realized that it hadn't been just nerves, the air really _had _gotten thinner! The island base wasn't on an island anymore, it was a floating castle!

He couldn't even see the waves in the distance beneath him. He looked back at Viper, wishing it could have ended differently. He looked into her eyes. All the usual was there. The fire, the animosity, the ambition, the resentment… but there was something else too. Something familiar. Something he hadn't seen in over seven decades. It brought back memories of home, back before "home" became a prison… In a strange way, the fact that even a shred of that had somehow survived made it a little more bearable.

Captain America closed his eyes. He heard her say, nearly a whisper: "I am… sorry, Alfonse."

And then… then… there was light. And sound. And a rumbling in the ground that forced Viper to throw both herself and her captive to the ground, away from the ledge. Cap's eyes shot open, and in the distance he saw a large, angular shape emerge from the clouds. Running lights and signal lights and even runway lights dotted to life on the vessel, a particular strip of them revealing a name: _Mother of Invention_. Viper sat on the ground, awestruck at the giant aerial ship. Then, slowly, so as to not draw any attention to it, she twisted her ring.

The captain didn't notice until it was too late, the golden orb already formed. Then he bowed his head and retrieved his shield, as a V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor approached the helipad, and was laying down a dense, sonic barrage. He'd witnessed the weapons before; the MPs usually used them to quell riots in less stable regions. The duplicates fell to the ground, clutching their ears, and one by one they all crawled back together, which seemed to restore them from their incapacitated state, but only for a moment. Soon, there was only a Red and a Blue, and the other three heroes were quick to arrest them.

The Osprey landed, a voice sounding off from a megaphone. "Good evenin', folks, this is your hostile neighborhood chauffeur, 4-7-9-R. Please sit down, shut up, and don't whine about the ride." Cap took a seat next to Reginald, and across from Flowers in the cramped dropship. The blue agent almost asked the American hero a question, but he held it in. It could wait until the end of the trip.

Alfonse Jaeger, the German immigrant, a man who'd been a beacon for his American home for almost as long as he'd had it, couldn't help but half-smile. He'd seen it. That remorseful glint in her eye. It had managed to survive after nearly seventy three years now. If that wasn't proof that his sister could be saved, nothing was.


	2. Deadpool and Cable: The Latverian Job

DATELINE: MAY 25TH, LATVERIA, 2003

Today was a day of tragedy for the Latverian people, as their Romanian neighbors declared war on their long-time rivals. UN Peace-keeping forces have been dispatched, in an attempt to stem the suffering of the locals.

DATELINE: JUNE 12TH, LATVERIA, 2003

All evacuation and defensive personnel have begun evacuation in the face of the new threat of the so-called "Nosferata" being deployed by Romania. These super-human soldiers have proven to be too much for conventional combat methods. The leader of this faction, a being referring to itself as Vladimir Dracula, has stated "We only wish to obtain a steady food supply." And sited a shortage over recent years.

DATELINE: JULY 19TH, LATVERIA, 2003

A startling turn of events occurred in Latveria today, as the first word we've had in weeks has returned from an individual going by the name "Doctor Francis DuFresne." After routing a platoon of Nosferata soldiers, DuFresne released a world-wide statement overwriting all frequencies. He claims to "Only be interested in the protection of his people" and "The immediate, overwhelming DOOM of any FOOL who would DARE TO CHALLENGE HIM!"

DATELINE: JULY 21ST, LATVERIA, 2003

Today, Frank DuFresne (known much more commonly as DOCTOR DOOM) has retaken the Latveria/Romania line. His official statement claims that he "Is even now preparing a method to wipe the FOOLISH vampires off the face of God's green earth! Such is the fate of those who invite DOOM upon their heads!"

DATELINE: JULY 23RD, LATVERIA, 2003

Today, a large scale offensive of robotic soldiers led by Dr. Doom has swept through the Romanian countryside, in a maneuver that managed to exterminate all Nosferata soldiers, Dracula included, in "A DAY OF GLORIOUS VICTORY!" Doom has since turned his sights on the reconstruction and wholesale improvement of the human condition in Latveria.

DATELINE: JULY 23RD, LATVERIA, 2013

Today is the ten-year anniversary of the day Dr. Doom put a stop to the menace of the Romanian invasion on Latveria. The dictator has declared a national "Doom's Day" To commemorate the event, meaning that all schools, government workplaces, and businesses are to be closed for one day in celebration.

* * *

All in all, it was a pretty average evening in the studio apartment-

"Whoa, whoa, hold up, _studio apartment?"_ I –the man with the burn scar and charmingly spiky hair –cried, indignantly.

What, is there something wrong with that?

"You're damn right there's something wrong with it!" I cried, tapping my foot. "Do you have any idea how much money I make in a year?"

No. Sorry, I'm a college student, the last thing I'm intimately familiar with is the annual salary of a super-powered contract killer.

Another man, heavily muscled with black hair and sporting a gray-painted cybernetic arm, walked into the room. He looks at his neighbor, a slightly annoyed glare on his face. "Jason, what are you yelling at?"

"I'm having a heart to heart with the author, Will ol' buddy. Don't worry about it." I shrug simply before looking back up at the scrawny tyke who built this poorly-researched world.

"Oh, god, not again…" Will walked out of the room, his minor telepathy acting up. Suffice to say, whenever Jason started ranting at the ceiling… _odd_ things were liable to happen.

Poorly researched? Now, now, I wouldn't say _poorly researched,_ I have to do a lot of backwork before-

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you did, kid, tell you what, how about _I _drive for a while before you break whatever sense of confidence the reader still has in you?" I said, in the most diplomatic voice I could manage when faced with such amateurish violations of style.

**JASON WADE, PUBLICLY KNOWN AS "DEADPOOL," LIVED IN THE SHITIEST APPARTMENT IN THE SHITIEST BUILDING IN THE SHITIEST CITY THERE IS!**

"Oh no! Not Pittsburgh!" I cried, before leaping through the four-

**HE ALSO WAS INCAPABLE OF NARRATING HIS OWN ACTIONS!**

"Well…" Wade muttered to himself, rubbing the spot where his head had rather solidly connected with the ceiling. "Shit."

Will, meanwhile, walked back in through the crumbling, moldy doorway. He stepped in a mess that was probably pizza at one point, rubbing his head with his rusted, neglected cybernetic arm. "What. Did. You. Do?" he growled with a murderous glare.

"What, me? I didn't do anything!" Jason replied, defensively. "It was all _his _fault!"

"Whose fault?" The cyborg snorted.

Wade inhaled sharply, all set to reply before… losing his train of thought completely. "You know, I don't really remember," he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

Will frowned, his brow furrowed in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright… I'm only going to say it once, so listen up." He held up a manila folder, somehow untarnished in spite of the catastrophic condition of the apartment. "I've got a job for us. We're going to do this job. We're going to get paid, for this job. We're going to use that money to get back to our old apartment building, and you're going to stop bickering with the ceiling. _Forever._"

"I have no problem with this." Wade sidled up to the big man, glancing curiously at the folder. "So, who's the job from? The Marvels? The Mafia? The Cartels?"

"We've been hired by Director Church. Of S.H.I.E.L.D." Jason quipped, a half-smile curling his lips. "It's a damn big job, even for him, and he'd offering a hefty reward for it."

"A big job? For _him?_ Oh, this is gonna be a _fun _one, isn't it?" The scarred man chirped "So what's the job? Intel? Nah, too boring… Hunting down one of his loose-ends?"

"Not even close." Cable shook his head, in pittance of his friend's lack of vision. "We're going to assassinate Doctor Doom."

"Oh. Well. In _that_ case…" Wade walked over to a small closet, and retrieved a white bodysuit with red markings. "We'd better get to planning! I'll see if I can't rustle up some heavy weapons." He pulled out his smart-phone and began dialing. "… Gah, just an answering machine. Phooey on her, can't even take a minute to help out a friend?"

"Hey, don't worry about it, I've got the set-up all worked out" Will smiled as he opened the door. "And as far as fire-power goes, it's all taken care of."

* * *

It was a sunny day. The birds were singing, children were laughing, and people were smiling everywhere one could look. And, whatever the reason, nobody seemed concerned that there were large banners everywhere saying "MERRY DOOM'S DAY!" and "THOSE IN A STATE OF NON-MERRIMENT WILL BE EXECUTED!"

The people of the city were milling towards the large stadium in the center of the city. Originally a shabby, dilapidated arena, it had since been renovated into a state-of-the-art entertainment center complete with vendors, valets, a high-definition big-screen and sound system, and a robotic security force. Needless to say, the Latverians assembled there were quite content with their day off.

But today was not just some simple day of merriment for the sake of it. No! The streets were abuzz with the news that Doctor Doom, the hero of Latveria, had a _very _important announcement to make. News so monumental, that he had called one of his Doom's Days just for the occasion! Why, such a thing had not happened since he announced the founding of the first University of Latveria, (the world's first and only university that was both a cutting-edge, ivy-league institution, and completely free of the need for students to pay tuition) three years earlier!

The masses came to the arena in droves, crowding into the stands, the lucky winners of the lottery held earlier that week pouring out onto the playing field. There, a large stage had been set up with elaborate, flowery embellishments surrounding a podium. When the arena had been totally packed and the unlucky few turned away to watch the event on the large monitors dotting the city, a hole opened up in the roof of the dome.

And the crowd lost its ever-loving mind.

They cheered and screamed and hollered their thanks and held up signs reading "HAIL DOOM!" and "WE LOVE DOOM!" People chanted various slogans as a figure in a suit of metallic purple armor drifted slowly down from the opening, a black cloak, tunic and cape laid over the armor to complete the ensemble. He drifted down as the large marching band began to play, until he touched down in position behind the podium as the band played the finale. Then, almost as if someone had flipped a switch, the entire building went silent.

Then Doctor Doom took a slight bow. "How's everybody doing today?" He asked in a peppy, upbeat voice. The crowd replied with a short-lived uproar that likely rivaled a jet-engine in volume. "Good to hear, good to hear…" The dictator looked around the stadium. "And will you just look at the awesome turnout we've got! This, right here, this is why Doomstadt's my favorite city." perusing the crowds, he spotted something that tickled his fancy. "You, over there." He pointed at a man who had been holding up a sign reading "POVERTY IS DOOMED!"

"Yes, milord?!" The man hollered

"I like it!" the masked man chuckled. "I think I'm gonna name my new economic development plan that. Excellent work, snaps all around!" The dictator, as well as nearly every living soul in the stadium, snapped their fingers a few times in appreciation. It's an odd sound, almost a million people snapping at once. Once it died down, he continued. "Now, I know you're all super excited about the big announcement, but first I've gotta go over the stuff that would've been in today's daily Doomcast. Gotta keep you guys on top of things!"

* * *

Meanwhile, outside the dome, the streets of Doomstadt were totally silent, everyone having gone home to watch the speech's broadcast. Not a creature moved, not a soul to be seen. Except for one. A lone, slow-moving, gray van cruised through the streets of the city, making its way towards the stadium. It stopped by the entrance to the parking lot where a brown-painted, robotic figure occupied a small booth by the entrance.

"Detener. El estadio ya está lleno. Si desea observar, debe regresar a su hogar. Está siendo televisado por todos los canales." The figure recited in a cold monotone voice.

The driver tilted his head to the side, out of curiosity more than anything. There were four major languages that he knew were spoken in Latveria. Spanish was not one of them. "Perdona me? No Habla Espanol." He uttered, in what he imagined Spanish would sound like through a Latverian accent.

The robot's processor whirred for a moment before it replied. "My apologies. The stadium is already full. If you wish to view the speech, please return home. You may watch through the television broadcast."

"Oh, but there's just no substitute for seeing the great Doom speak in person, is there?" The driver asked, a grin on his face. "You couldn't double check? For me?"

The robot stood silent for a minute. "The Occupation limit for the Doomstadt Doomdome is precisely Three-hundred-thousand occupants. There are currently precisely three-hundred-thousand occupants within the Doomstadt Doomdome. Negative. You are not allowed passage."

"You don't think you could make an excep-"

"To breach the Occupancy Limit would be to put all other occupants in danger. Individuals found in non-compliance will be executed, as per Doom's decree." The robot used the exact same tone as it might have when giving a family parking directions. "Return to your dwelling of choice."

The driver looked saddened… until he pulled large weapon from the holster on his hip and blasted the machine's head apart with a searing noise and a blue flash of light._ So much for the stealthy approach._ He holstered the weapon, and opened a small hatch between the cab of the van and the cargo section, vanishing from sight as around eight other security drones left their stations and converged on the van.

* * *

Doom tapped the clipboard in his hands on the top of the podium, straightening it out. "And to round out the day's mentionables, I'd like to thank each and every one of you for doing your part to make our awesome nation a safe, crime free place to live in! Our national crime incidence is down fifteen percent from last month! Excellent work, neighborhood watches. Remember: Every crime prevented-"

"_Is an execution stayed!"_ The crowd sang back in unison.

"Look at these guys, they know what's up!" Doom laughed as he put the clipboard away. "Alright, it's time for the big announcement! Now, I know you guys have all been super pumped about everything we've gotten done in the last decade or so. Our economy is doing great, our educational system is the best world-wide." A few members of the crowd muttered in anticipation. "Heck, we're doing _so _great that we've shot from a second-world country to an official world superpower in just under ten years!" There were a few hollers and claps throughout the stadium.

"In fact, in the past many have you suggested that I try my hand at ruling a few other countries, to see if I couldn't help out the rest of our fellow men. Now, I know that I've been holding out on them, but to be honest, I just haven't really had the resources to expand our peaceful little utopia. _Until now, _that is!" Excited chattering filled the hall as the monarch spoke.

"Recently, I have uncovered a new source of power. This factor, when added to my own abilities, I believe will be sufficient for me to immediately begin the acquisition and improvement of nothing less than the entire global populace!" Applause broke out in the dome, and Doom shouted over it. Reveled in it. "Imagine it! Humanity ruled under one banner, one cause, nothing short of the betterment and eventual perfection of the human condition! Every man, woman and child the world over, humans, meta-humans, and mutants alike, all working together to better themselves under the flag of DOOMWORLD!"

* * *

One of the security drones stepped out from the line of identical copies and reconfigured its hand into a green-glowing, two-pronged plasma weapon before aiming it at the van. "You have been found in violation of the sanction against vandalism of national security drones. You will be detained and placed in custody to await your execution. If you do not comply, you will immediately be executed. Which will be much messier to clean up."

After a few moments of silence, the driver emerged from the back doors of the van garbed in a white body-suit with gray armor plates covering his torso. He brandished a large chrome-plated rifle before pulling the trigger, sending a giant bolt of blue light into the droid who had spoken, enveloping its torso in the beam before cutting out. The shot vaporized most of the target and even and tunneled through several trees, streetlights, and cars beyond that. The droid's head clattered to the ground, before hollering "Madre Dio! _Para Cagar!"_

The remaining droids charged Cable as he dialed down the power setting on his plasma rifle. "Alright then," he muttered, a thin smile forming on his face as the robots configured their own plasma weapons. "Let's dance."

* * *

Even with the crowd's cheering, it was hard to not hear the blast from the opening shot. It was a high-pitched, screaming wail accompanied by the sounds of several explosions. The fact that every security drone in the station stopped what they were doing, turned the direction the noise had come from, and recited "Illicit weapon detected, approximate technological progress level: five," didn't help the assembled masses keep their cool.

The crowd grew restless, a few of the more zealous members turning to their ruler for a hint at what to do next. Doom immediately let out a low growl. "Sentries! Deal with the problem." The security drones bolted to the nearest exits, readying their plasma weapons. The armored figure turned back to the crowds before sighing. "Sadly, subjects, it would appear as though our Doom's Day has been cut short. Please remain calm, I shall incite an emergency teleportation spell. You will be transported to the Castle Doomstadt Bunker, and I will deal with the incident." He spoke with a slight animalistic tone, a bit deeper sounding than he had before.

As he spoke, Doom failed to notice that one of the musicians in the pit had stood up. The man – a scraggly fellow with brown hair and a tuba – flipped his instrument onto his shoulder, the rest of the crowd too worried by the sounds to notice or care.

Doom had begun twisting his hands into odd positions, and they began to glow with some sort of strange purple energy. "I ask again, please remain calm, as long as you remain within the arena walls, you are totally safe."

Almost as if to propose a counter argument, the tuba-player flipped a small scope out of his instrument's piping and took aim at the dictator, the glint of its brass bell reflecting in the spotlights. "Now now, Doomy, never make a promise you can't KEEP!" The tuba-player pulled on his mouthpiece (which broke from the tuba, yet was still connected by a cord) and with a massive blast the brass horn fired a large rocket from its bell. It soared towards the stage, only for it to be stopped by a translucent violet barrier surrounding its target. It fell to the floor with an anticlimactic _ping_.

"SIMPLETON!" Doom shouted, his voice having dropped all the way to an irate baritone. "Did you truly think you could kill DOOM with a mere novelty tuba and SURPRISE!? What sort of FOOL dare attempt an assassination in MY city!?" A barely-perceptible blue EMP wave spread from him, and neutralized his would-be assassin's disguise along with every Doom-phone in the front three rows of the audience. Before him stood a man in a white and red body-suit, laden with enough pouches and holsters to carry anything an enterprising mercenary could ever want or need. Who still happened to be holding a tubazooka. "Deadpool…" Doom snickered. "I should have known. TASKMASTER!"

A man was walking towards the stage, the fleeing crowds parting around him. He was wearing a coral-colored bodysuit and skull mask along with a sage-green cloak and matching gloves and boots. A broadsword and a round coral-colored shield with a green "T" across the front were slung over his back, completing the ensemble. "What'll it be, boss?" Taskmaster asked as he jumped up on to the stage. He glanced over at Deadpool before adding -almost as an afterthought- "Oh, hey Wadey."

Casually, as if he were at the water cooler, the mouthy merc exclaimed, "Well if it isn't the master himself! What brings you to Latveria, old buddy?"

"Oh, you know. Money. Training. The usual." Taskmaster replied.

Doom trembled in fury, still enveloped in his forcefield. "FOOLS! There will be no camaraderie between those in DOOMS employ and those attempting to kill him!" He turned to face Taskmaster, still gesturing and gathering arcane energy. "You will kill this fool, or at least keep him occupied long enough for me to evacuate the innocents!"

The skull-masked man nodded before drawing his sword and shield. "Sorry, buddy. A job's a job."

Deadpool merely shrugged before drawing his second machete. "Hey, I know. No hard feelings, right?" He began squaring off with his opponent as he spoke, widening his stance slightly.

"Right." Taskmaster held his shield ready to defend and his sword ready to strike at even the most fleeting opening. The two slowly circled on the stage, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

After several moments that seemed like an eternity, Deadpool struck first, swinging a machete that was only barely deflected by Taskmaster's shield. This gave Taskmaster just a long enough to take a swing at the offending arm, cutting deep into Jason's wrist and sending the machete to the floor. "OWIE!" The merc shouted, pressing his wrist against his hip like a duelist in a gaudy swashbuckler and turning sideways, narrowly the follow-up swing.

Deadpool touted "Engarde!" and exchanged a few swings and parries with his second machete while he let the tissues in his hand knit back together. "How long has it been, a year? Maybe two?" He flipped back from an overhead slash and drew a pistol with his newly-recovered hand.

"Yeah, somethin' like that." Taskmaster replied before blocking several shots with his shield. He managed to bounce the last bullet back at Jason, who barely managed to deflect it with his remaining blade. "Been all over the place, practicing, learning. Hasn't actually been that bad."

Deadpool blinked away before reappearing above his foe, machete raised. Taskmaster leaned backwards and forced back the blow with his shield once-more. "Sounds fun, real fun." The white and red merc shot as he rolled over to his fallen blade and picked it up. "Any good fights in particular?"

"Yeah." Taskmaster flung his shield through the air, the edge of the disc catching Deadpool in the chin before rebounding to his arm. "Had a run-in with Captain America a few months back," he finished.

"Ugh… Yeah, I see that now," Deadpool muttered, rubbing his face. Then he blinked back over to behind Taskmaster. "Say, it's been real-" He swung his blades in a furious frenzy, most of his strikes evaded or blocked except for a glancing blow to his opponent's hip. "But seriously, I'm on the clock."

* * *

Cable dove behind a red SUV as the security drones continued their assault. He'd thinned their numbers some, but here that wasn't really the point. All he had to do was keep the main guard distracted long enough for his partner to finish the job before cruising out in their heavily-armored battle-wagon.

That said if his fight was anything to go on, the Latverian drones were built tough! While still no match for his rifle's mid-tier power range, using that setting was severely draining the battery pack. He ducked out from behind his cover, pelting a few more of the robots with blue plasma, sending them limp to the ground. Green-white bolts came soaring back, forcing him to duck behind the SUV before bolting away from the smell of smoke.

He managed to get several cars away before the SUV exploded, taking out some of the brown androids and spreading fire all about the lot. He staggered at the remains of the shockwave washed over him, and in his moment of weakness a droid shot out from between two cars and pinned him against a blue truck. "You are guilty of severe vandalism. You shall be executed."

Wordlessly, Cable grabbed the back of the robot's head with his cybernetic hand and squeezed, crushing its head. The droid fell to the ground as Cable slipped between the cars and drew his combat knife and a hand-blaster, keeping the cars between himself and his foes. He ducked between the cars, avoiding the robots' sweeping optical sensors while drawing up behind a pack of the brown-armored hostiles. Perhaps the androids were advanced by the standards of _this_ era, but to Cable they were sitting ducks.

He shot out from behind his cover, slashing through one of the robot's neck. While it fell into a heap, Cable fired his blaster into two more droids as he approached the unit at the head of the formation. It raised its weapon, but Cable put his knife through the droid's head before it could even get a shot off. Then he bolted back between two rows of vehicles as more drones arrived to investigate.

The next hunt was ready to begin.

However, before he could get around to stalking the new drones, Cable heard one of them remark "Warning. Illicit exoskeleton detected. Progress level: five. Primary threat re-designated."

Suddenly, thruster ports lit up on the robot's feet and backs, propelling them up into the air. They soared off into the distance, where a large fur-ball of a dogfight was unfolding, and moving ever closer to the city. Upon closer inspection Cable could make out photon beams, missiles and automatic gunfire streaking out from a single source, fending off the legion of Doom's robot's attacking it.

The Man Out of Time smirked before leaning against a nearby car.

_It's about damn time._

* * *

Deadpool smirked before wiping the blood off his blade with a scrap of Taskmaster's cape that had fallen during the fray. "Now, can I hear you say 'uncle'?"

The skull-masked mercenary stood as ready as he could be. He had taken several more hits, but nothing too life-threatening. It would still be a pain to fight in his current state, though. On the other hand, the only evidence that Taskmaster had even hit Wade were several bloodstained cuts in his uniform, which boasted of his freshly regenerated skin. "Nah." The green-cloaked man rolled his shoulders, in spite of the pain the action wrought. "I still have a little fight left, I'd say."

"IT IS NOW IRRELEVANT!" Doom bellowed suddenly. Raising his hands, he dropped his forcefield and released the energy he had been gathering. Violet tendrils of light shot out from him, connecting to each and every one of the panicked civilians milling about the stands and the outskirts of the playing field. Then with a resounding _BAMF_ they all vanished, a gale of air rushing in from outside to occupy their space.

Taskmaster relaxed, standing up straight and offering his hand. "Good match," he huffed.

"Damn straight it was!" Deadpool shook his opponent's hand, a smile apparent even through his mask.

"FOOLS!" Doom spurted as he strode forward. "Did you not hear my earlier decree!?"

Wade shook his head. "Really is a spoilsport isn't he?"

His friend merely nodded in response before turning to face Doom. "Say boss, I think I'll head back to the castle and get something for these wounds, alright?"

"What is THIS!?" the dictator bellowed. "Cowardice? Nay, TREASON!"

"I'm not a citizen." The mercenary replied. "I'm also a little too wounded to be useful. And I'm _sure _that _you _can take care of him, isn't that right?" He shrugged as if it were a foregone conclusion.

"OF COURSE I CAN!..." Doom glared at the mercenary for a few moments. Then he tossed a small D-shaped device at him, and it adhered to his chest. "We will be discussing your pay rate later," the dictator muttered as he punched a command into his gauntlet.

"Whatever." Taskmaster shrugged before fading out of the room with a violet flash.

Doom then shot Deadpool a look that seemed as though he may start spewing fire from his eyes at any moment.

"Boy, you're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?" the mercenary quipped before readying his machetes. He teleported behind the caped dictator only to receive an armored backhand to the face. "Damn! Keeping the pimp hand strong much?" Deadpool snapped before dodging a yellow blast from Doom's gauntlet.

"FOOL! Only lowly PEASANTS fear the hands of pimps!" Doom flew through the air at his quarry, but Wade dodged the man's grasping hands. He swung his machetes down upon Doom's back, but they bounced right off the metal of his armor. Which wouldn't have surprised Deadpool if these particular machetes weren't forged of adamantium, with the explicit purpose of being able to penetrate Doom's armor.

_What?_

Doom cackled as he righted himself, grabbing the blades of the weapons. "Oh, you poor, poor mortal. You see, this suit had been reinforced with magicks that had been lost for EONS! When I strike you, it is NOT with the hands of a PIMP-" Doom electrified his armor, sending a massive current trough the blades and into Deadpool before bellowing "IT IS WITH THE HANDS OF A _GOD!_"

Wade couldn't release the handles, the electricity contracting every muscle in his body. He could hear himself screaming incoherently through clenched teeth, as the pain of every cell in his body rapidly frying and regenerating dozens of times coursed through him. Doom laughed wildly before lifting Wade by the machetes and slamming him down into the ground. He ceased the electrical barrage, wrapped his hands around the man's neck, and activated a scanner. Wade's charred body glowed green under his scrutiny, however the glowing subsided as his flesh regenerated.

Except for one spot.

Doom lifted the mercenary, chuckling at the patch of green remaining on his chest. "You know… I will admit some small details have evaded me in the past. For example, this device merely shows me the _presence_ of illness. It cannot identify what ails you. However…" He threw Wade down into the ground, and set his boot onto the spot before deactivating his scanner. "Doom welcomes the challenge of doing so." He pressed his foot down, eliciting further yells of pain from the man. He grinned behind his mask, and in a deep, menacing hiss declared: "_Let us formulate a diagnosis."_

Doom lifted up his boot and stomped on the revealed weak-point, the cracking of ribs and an unearthly wail rising up from his victim.

* * *

Cable looked up at the aerial battle now raging over the parking lot, flashes of light and sound punctuated by a veritable rainfall of robotic bits and pieces. After a particularly bold maneuver by the new arrival, the mercenary looked up to see said arrival soar down to the ground. There was a loud _clang _and a small crater when they hit the ground. There stood a robotic figure, painted lavender with a few blue details on the shoulders and faceplate. A small white mark on one shoulder read W.M. Mk2.

Will pushed off from the front of the car and stowed his knife and pistol away, greeting the show-stopper with a few slow claps. "Well well well, look who finally decided to show up," he declared, a half-grin on his face.

"Come on, you know I wouldn't miss a job like _this._" The figure's faceplate lifted up, revealing a blue-eyed woman's face with a few strands of blonde hair dangling out of her helmet. She walked right up to Cable, and he noted that it never got old that even while in her armor the small woman only came up to his chin in height. "So, where's Jason?" she asked.

"Oh, he went on ahead to the primary objective," Cable shrugged. "May as well give him a hand, seeing as the droids no longer need distracting."

The woman blinked twice. "I see… how long ago was that?"

Before Cable could reply, a hideous wail cut through the silence. It sounded like it came from the stadium. "Oh, shit," he mumbled.

Without a word more, the woman's faceplate snapped shut. She took off for the stadium at full speed, repulsor jets running full-bore. She blasted through the entrance to the dome, searching for the source of the noise. When she found it, her blood ran cold. In the center of the playing field, on a gaudily decorated stage, stood Doctor Doom. He was currently stomping on Deadpool, who was coughing up a torrent of blood that stained his white uniform blood-red well, the portions that didn't already looked like they'd been put through an oven, of course.

"_Fascinating!_" Doom laughed darkly at his morbid discovery. "It would seem as though this lump of tissue is linked to your 'ability,' isn't it, my degenerate guest?" he charged a green orb in the palm of one of his gauntlets, and practically touched it to Deadpool's chest. "I wonder what would happen if I did THI-"

And suddenly Doom was no longer on top of his "patient". Instead, he was about three feet deep in the dirt, at the end of a trail of destruction that led through a fresh hole the back of the stage. Weakly, and half groaning as he felt the excruciating pains in his chest subside, Wade murmured "What? What would happen If you did _what?_"

Meanwhile at the bottom of the crater, Doom unleashed a concussive blast from his palm, sending the intruder flying back to where she landed with her feet dug back into the dirt. The dictator stood to assess his foe, his cape and tunic practically in shambles. "War Machine!" He shouted, out of surprise more than anything. "Well, it is no matter whether you're here or not! I am DOOM, and I REFUSE TO BE DEFEATED BY A PEASANT IN A SECOND-HAND SUIT!" He ripped off his suit's tattered embellishments, leaving only his medieval-looking purple armor before charging a green orb in one hand. "Do you TRULY believe you have a weapon that can kill DOOM? THE WAR-HERO OF LATVERIA!?"

War Machine rolled her shoulders before punching one fist into the other. The repulsor on her chest flared, several armor plates shifted, and nothing less than a forearm-mounted flamethrower, a forearm-mounted chain-blade, a shoulder-mounted minigun, a shoulder-mounted rocket-pod, and two wrist-mounted sub-machineguns bristled from beneath them. In fact, the size of her armaments were further emphasized by her short stature. "Only one way to find out," she replied, her voice sounding mechanical through the suit's speakers.

"Very well." The dust from the playing field parted in a ring around Doom as he began to float about a foot above the ground. "Come, face your DOOM!"

* * *

It was easy to get around in the castle. While it was massive, the security drones were having a hard time tending to all of the refugees down in the bunker. And that left nothing to stop Taskmaster from going into the more restricted portions of the castle but the security system. A security system he'd had the foresight of having hacked months ago.

_But, first things first._

Now that he'd returned to his quarters and bound his wounds, perhaps he'd be able to get back and manage to save his employer before Wade carved him up into sashimi. Always a shame when a paycheck suddenly dies. He retrieved a small monitor and a keyboard from a compartment under his bed and attached them to a small cube with red markings all over its surface.

The Memory Cube, as he liked to call it, contained video files recorded of every fight he'd ever been in since creating it, as well as several valuable bits of info to guard against forgetting them. It helped refresh his memories from the occasional bouts of amnesia he suffered. That said, it could still be used to hack into the Latverian CCTV network. No use teleporting back into the stadium if Doom had already died, after all. He flipped through the various cameras until finding one in the Doomdome. There, it showed a feed of Doom throwing down with War Machine in a blitz of gunfire, plasma, rockets, and magic.

He… hadn't expected for her to have shown up. That's for _damn_ sure.

_Well. Top secret data it is._ He pulled up a command prompt on the monitor and locked onto the encrypted network. It would take a while for his entry program to decipher the encryption, so he started packing his various weapons and spare uniforms hurriedly. It would appear as though he had overstayed his welcome in Castle Doomstadt.

* * *

The two armored figured danced through the air all through the Doomdome, blasting and shooting and exploding in one of the most visually dynamic stalemates in recent memory. War Machine fired a barrage of tiny missiles that were intercepted by jolts of electricity from Doom's gauntlet, and the dictator swiftly replied with two shots form a large shoulder-fired weapon conjured seemingly out of thin air.

The lavender-clad woman only narrowly avoided the blasts through a quick set of maneuvers that didn't _quite _seem physically possible, before she swung around to face him and fired a blast from the repulsor on her chest. Doom narrowly intercepted from a concussive blast from his off-hand, resulting in a shock-wave that sent them both flying to the ground. Doom was able to regain his footing, and rose taunting his foe. "Well, it would appear as though at least ONE person the world over stands a slight chance against DOOM. That said-" He charged a green blast between both hands. "You seem to have squandered it, FOO-"

Today seemed to be the day for interrupting Doom. Because while he'd been distracted by his rant, Deadpool had teleported over behind him and shoved the bell of the tubazooka over his head with enough force to wrap the brass around the Doctor's shoulder plates.

Odd, nearly inhuman bellowing escaped from the brass weapon, but that only made the sight funnier. "Hey, Hannah, you still alive?" Deadpool hollered, looking over at the other crater.

"More or less," War Machine mumbled, suppressing a laugh at the befuddled dictator.

Cable stepped out from behind the stage, where he'd been surveying the battle (and maybe giving Hannah some quick telepathic warnings) "Excellent." He drew his hand-blaster and set it to the maximum setting. "Then let's seal the deal." He pointed it at the dictator…

Only to be flung back by a massive shockwave radiating from Doom, accompanied by a howl of "_FOOOOOOOOOOOLS!_" The force was great enough to turn the bell of the tuba inside out, and it practically exploded off of him. "You dare make a mockery of DOOM!? You come to his city, disrupt his holiday, vandalize his belongings, mock the relationship betwixt Doom and his henchmen, interrupt a well-deserved torture break, AND NOW YOU _DARE_ DEFILE HIM WITH A NOVELTY TUBA!"

"You know, that really needs a fair bit of context to not sound really, really awkward." Deadpool muttered from where he'd landed.

"ALRIGHT, YOU KNOW WHAT!?...no." Doom's voice actually became a little less deep. "Just no. Done with you." He conjured up two violet orbs of arcane energy. "Doom would love nothing more than to bleach you stains from the fabric of reality, but he doesn't have the time to deal with idiots right now. I am mere trifling moments from a campaign that will forge nothing less than an era of world peace." He flared out his hands, sending out four tendrils of violet light, one connecting to each mercenary and one soaring out of the arena. "Get the fuck out of DOOM'S country and take your stupid, skull-wearing friend with you!"

With a flash of violet light and a resounding _BAMF, _the three mercs found themselves sitting in the middle of a box canyon in the middle of nowhere.

"Uh… where?" Cable muttered.

War Machine paused for a moment before replying "We are on literally the furthest physical point on the planet Earth from Latveria.

"Ugh. I need to get me one of those." Deadpool quipped as he stood up.

_Bamf!_ "GAH!" with a loud thud, Taskmaster appeared before the three, deftly twisting to land on his feet, instinctively. Then he lurched forward a bit, and put a hand to his hip wound "Ow. Fucking ow."

"Well. The gang's all here then." Deadpool shrugged before grabbing the charred remains of a satellite phone from one of his belts. "Ah… shit."

Cable pulled out a still intact satellite phone. "I've still got one. I'll get the evac ready."

The four stood around like that for a while, not quite sure what to do next. Or at least for Taskmaster, how to phrase what he had to say next. "So…" he began, tentatively. "Who wants to track down the power source Doom's hunting and use it to wipe his purple tin ass off the face of the Earth?" He held out a small cube with red markings all over it. "Pretty sure I've got a few good places to start recorded here.

Deadpool stuck both of his thumbs up and enthusiastically declared "THIS GUY!"


	3. The Spectacular Scorn

The Spectacular Scorn

For as long as she could remember, Ramona Nieves had hated spiders. She hated their creepy, furry legs, their beady little eyes, and the unnatural, scurrying way they moved. In fact, she hated and feared them so much, that it provided the perfect means to keep her contained. She was suspended upside-down from the ceiling, encased in a cocoon made up of the most vile, red, gooey fibers she'd ever encountered. And sitting, biding, waiting for her to make a move were dozens of red, creepy little spider-like… _things_ made of the same disgusting substance.

She'd already tried to break out, of course, but any attempts to move made the spider-sentries start crawling all over her. She'd lost count of the panic attacks she'd had as a result of that. And strung up in the windowless cell, she'd lost all sense of time. She knew what _he_ was trying to do. Trying to drive her to her limits. Trying to push her over the edge. Trying to make her like _them_.

But it would all be in vain.

They may have their plans, but then again, she had her own. The tiny voice inside her head reached out to her. _"Construction on escape plan A is ninety-eight percent complete." _Its presence didn't worry her. It had been there since before they strung her up. If anything, it comforted her, to have _something_ else to communicate with. Her gaze was fixed upward (or technically… downward?) at her first escape plan.

Slowly, carefully, so as not to send vibrations to the web nor alert whoever would be watching the surveillance cameras, she was building a tiny metal butterfly. Her hands were still bound in the cocoon. Fortunately, the voice's tendrils and her own red hair were almost perfectly matched in color, so they had been assembling it for her, going unnoticed.

"_Construction on escape plan A is now one-hundred percent complete."_

"Send it," she whispered. The small device- appearing to be barely more than a flash-drive with butterfly wings- dropped out of the fine tendrils, and flitted over to the heavy steel door. It crawled beneath the tiny gap at the bottom of the door's frame, and then it was gone from her sight. Now it was only a matter of time. He'd get the drive, and there would be no way for his curious mind to resist. She relaxed -slowly, so as to avoid upsetting the "guards"- and she could no longer prevent the sleep she had been staving off for what felt like days from washing over her.

* * *

… _Several Years Ago…_

"Alarm: security breach. Level alpha," a feminine, digital voice announced throughout the vat-and-tank-filled room.

"What are you kids waiting for, a personal invite?" the blonde man, Ian Harper, hollered from where he was investigating a control panel attached to a rather large tank. "There's got to be _something _in here we can use. There always is. I mean, those S.H.I.E.L.D. bastards are already outmatched, but it never hurts to make sure…"

Ramona approached a large tank filled with a red substance. She really, really hoped it wasn't blood. "That… that just looks wrong." A pair of large, white, eyelike globules appeared mere inches from her face. "Oh, _Christ!"_ She shouted as the tank began to shudder. After a few powerful _SLAMs_ the side of the tank gave way, covering Ramona in the red substance. And instead of sliding off, the entire mass _clung_ to her, even _climbing_ _up_ where it had hit the floor.

"_Accept the bond._"

Ramona didn't know if the sensation of the slime or the sickly, wispy voice in her head was the worst part. "CURTIS! IAN!" She cried, trying to crawl out of the mess while holding a hand up.

"Oh, shit!" Curtis hollered, charging over to Ramona. A red tendril shot out from the goo and grabbed hold of the man's leg, flinging him sideways and straight through a pipe connected to a large vat. A gout of some sort of green vapor shot out of the tank, scalding a patch on Curtis' face and sending him to his knees, howling in pain.

Harper charged in as well, knife drawn, ready to start cutting the substance away if necessary. But as it turns out, at Harper's slightest touch the substance calmed, then released Ramona in order to envelop _him. _For a moment the mercenary struggled, attempting to tear the alien substance from his skin. But then he paused for a minute, almost as if listening to something. "Oh…_oh." _Harper stood up straight, the red mass still hanging from him. He chuckled. "Well, why didn't you just say so?" He threw his arms out, seemingly welcoming something. "Hit me!"

The red substance reacted fervently to his command, spreading and conforming to his body's shape until it resembled a red bodysuit decorated with sporadic tendril-like growths. The white globules from earlier reappeared on Harper's face, covering his eyes as the suit completely enveloped him. When it had completely covered him, Harper grinned with an unnaturally large, fanged maw seemingly made of the red suit's material. "I am… Carnage!" with this cry, he formed his hands into massive claws before laughing darkly. "Oh… _this_ is gonna be _fun…_"

Ramona backed away, over towards where Curtis had fallen, terrified of whatever that _thing_ could have done to the already unstable mercenary. She jumped a little bit when she heard a sudden bout of giggling spring up from the demoman's seemingly unconscious form. "Curtis!" She crouched down, and examined the gruesome burn on the side of his head. "Curtis, are you okay?"

"Heheheheheheee…" Curtis's eyes shot open, and he sat up. "Oh, absitively!" He stood up and unhooked a grenade from his belt. He chuckled inanely while spinning it on his finger by the ring a few times. "In fact, why, I don't think I've ever felt _better!"_ he caught the bomb in the palm of his hand and grinned an uncomfortably large smile, a manic fire in his eyes. "Hey. Boss." He glanced over at Harper, unperturbed by his transformation. "_Let's tear it up!"_

* * *

"OOH! OOH! I like this one!" Curtis leaped up and down at the sight of a golden-colored, bat-shaped glider hanging up on the armory wall. "IwantitIwantitIwantit!"

"Hey, by all means, kiddo!" Harper hollered over his shoulder as he rummaged around a weapons locker that looked like something out of a sci-fi convention. "Think of it as a bonus for today's _monstrous _haul!"

"YAY!" The merc ripped the glider off the wall, shattering the clamps securing it with his new-found strength. "Whoo-hoo!" He held it aloft as if it were made of Styrofoam, pumping it up and down above his head like some sort of manic looter.

Ramona, meanwhile, had hung back. She was still leaning against the doorway into the armory, catching her breath from watching the two newly-empowered teammate tear through the enemy. _Both figuratively_… She glanced back at several pools of gore and bloody blast-marks that used to be the armory guards.

_And literally._

She rubbed her robotic shoulder with her normal hand. The prosthetic had been locking up sporadically ever since… "Carnage's" new suit had attacked her. She grimaced, her mind in a whirlwind of turmoil surrounding this strange circumstance.

"_Hello?"_

Ramona froze, a chill running up her spine. It had sounded like a tiny voice had spoken in the back of her mind.

* * *

"Look, I don't care if it's with a shitty camera, I don't care if you have to use a motherfucking pen and paper! I want my pictures; it's what I'm paying you for!" The pudgy man with stubble hollered from behind his desk. Ramona just sighed inwardly. "Yes, Mister Sorola. I'm sorr-"

"Sorry? "Sorry!?" I don't wanna fucking HEAR "Sorry!"" the editor shouted. "You were _there!_"

Ramona sank into the chair a little deeper. Working at the Daily Bugle was a decent way to make ends meet, ever since she had left… But it got a bit hard to live with Mr. Sorola's eternal pessimism. Her eyes drifted past the raging editor, out past the window. And she froze.

_Not. Fucking. Now._

Outside the window, standing on a bat-shaped glider, was a man in a green armored suit with a bright blue tunic and cap. He waved excitedly at Ramona, his goblin mask somehow moving to mimic the smile he was undoubtedly wearing. And editor Sorola just continued ranting, none the wiser.

The green suited maniac reached inside the large satchel he simply loved to carry these days, and grabbed a trio of his signature pumpkin-shaped grenades. He tossed one up, then began juggling all three of them.

Ramona remained wordless, but slowly shook her head, a violent fire in her eyes. At first, she'd been sad to leave him behind. If only she'd known how difficult it would be to get rid of him…

The Goblin nodded enthusiastically, the rate of his juggling picking up speed.

Ramona just glared and mouthed _I will seriously fucking end you this time._

The juggler just shrugged before tossing a bomb up extra high, catching the other two, flinging them through the window, and kicking the last one after them when it fell back down. One of the little pumpkins hit Sorola in the back of the head, luckily knocking him out cold. Ramona donned her burnt-orange, symbiotic "suit" before any of the staff had a chance to investigate, and shot a trio of tendrils out to the bombs. She flung them back out the window mere moments before they exploded.

Leaping out through the now-shattered window, Scorn shot out one of the metallic-colored tendrils that were woven into the suit. It latched onto the bottom of the glider, and she gave it a swift pull, flinging her towards the Green Goblin and planting a foot in the side of his head. The bomber spun around on his glider a few times before finally righting himself. "Oh come on, sweetie, is that weally gonna be how you say hewo?" he whimpered, that manic grin still overriding his sickeningly sweet tone of voice. "It took _so long_ to bust out this time, I had to shank this electrokinetic named Bubba. Or some shit like that. I dunno, inmates are soooo uncreative with the nicknames these days." He chuckled as he retrieved a couple more bombs from his bag.

Scorn didn't even acknowledge the greeting. "Crap on a cracker, I WAS AT MOTHERFUCKING WORK, CURTIS!" She bellowed before slinging a tendril to a building and put her downwards momentum into a swing, flinging herself back upwards to try and plant a fist right between that big, goofy-ass mask's ugly yellow eyes.

* * *

Curtis shot straight up in his bed, almost as if intentionally ripped from his dream. He rolled out of his bed and stood up, before lazily drifting over to the half-eaten box of cookies on his desk. _And it had been such a good dream, too!_ Curtis moped, before glancing around his room. On one wall was a collage of newspaper clippings, detailing "highlights" of his favorite hobby. One of his favorites read "Moth-Man Saves Dozens in Goblin Incident!"

He chuckled. That had been one of his favorite successes. He'd set up this whole, elaborate battle, with a ticking time-bomb to defuse and everything, for the express purpose that he would _lose,_ and dramatically glide off while screaming _"CURSE YOU, MOTH-MAN!"_ She wore a large butterfly emblem on her chest, and the Goblin knew it, but there aren't many good words that alliterate with the word "butterfly." He'd nearly gone with "Power Papilion," but nobody knew what the fuck "papilion" even meant. They'd assume he made it up.

She hadn't made a name for herself, you see. So he made one for her. The press snapped it right up, they _do _love their alliteration so. "Blasting bouncing Betty's better beware," he giggled before drifting over to his suit, armored and built especially to help him pilot Tess. He smiled and reached for another handful of cookies. He'd head down to the kitchen, but he didn't want to risk running into Harper. No, the bacon could wait until the plan was over, and Harper went back to the _main_ headquarters, out of state. Then he would let Ramona out of the box, and they could start the next round!

"Goblins gain grievances greatly, good games gone grandly grenade-goofy." It was anxiety-inducing, keeping her cooped up like that. Of course, it was always good to take a new angle on things. "Sure suspect she's sleeping soundly… soundly… uh…" he couldn't think of a decent S-word to get the point across. "…Shit."

He shrugged and decided to go back to the drawing board. Get a whole bunch of rules set up for the next game, oh and they would have SO much fun! "Alrighty then, what have we got, what have we got?" he mumbled through a mouthful of cookie.

To be perfectly honest, what he had was a large whiteboard with green marker all over it. The oldest scribblings were rather simple:

**WAYS TO WIN RAMONA BACK:**

**1. Move to New York**

**2. Green Goblin**

**3. ?**

**4. PROFIT!**

Steps one and two both had check-marks next to them. However, the ? had been crossed out, erased, and re-written many times, replaced by various other schemes, including "Bitches love money." "BEES!" "Tsundere troll antics." "Green Goblin Corps. Bitches love a man in uniform!" "Symbiote-ectomy." "Mindhacks?" "Wing it!" and even "Kill all the spiders! ALL of them!"

Each and every one of them had been crossed out, except for the most recent one. "IDK, Stockholm syndrome? Why not?" To be honest, that last one had been purely circumstantial. Carnage had needed Scorn locked up, to get her out of the way of… _something. _Curtis only went along with it because of the promised payday. He needed to pay for his explosives, too!

He bit into another cookie, only to find himself biting into a bit of _metal!_ "Huh?" Curtis looked down, half-expecting to find another half-eaten fuse wire. But instead, there was a tiny metal device shaped like a butterfly.

He quickly clutched it to his chest, giggling. It had to be a sign! It HAD to be! His laughter grew as he noticed the USB port, and he dashed over to his computer, booting it up as soon as he could. There was a single file on the drive, a sound file. He opened it up and put on his headphones. Oh, he was just so excited!

* * *

He wasn't excited anymore. Curtis looked up at the tangled up mess that Ramona was strung up in. "Yeah, you know what? No." He was shocked and appalled that Harper could have done this to her! She'd always hated spiders! The Goblin had always made sure that Ramona could recover from his plots, but _this?_ This could cause some permanent psychological trauma!

_And not the fun kind, either!_

He reached inside his satchel and pulled out a foot-tall, cartoon-style frog figurine, and hastily set is down in front of Ramona's (hopefully) sleeping form. Then he stole back to his room, careful to avoid Carnage's typical haunts. As soon as he had his door shut and locked, he bolted over to the whiteboard, scratched out "Stockholm Syndrome," and wrote down "KILLCARNAGEKILLCARNAGEKILLCARNAGE!"

Then he grabbed his suit.

* * *

She slowly pulled around the final turn. The large, black, armored truck had no lights on, and a specialized motor and muffler had been installed just for the occasion. Today would be a milestone in Serena Castle's self-made career. She'd become a bit of a legend among crime rings. The kind of legend you tell to keep the new blood in line, or remind a cocky gang leader that he's not the biggest fish in the pond. And in a business like this, reputation is everything. She didn't normally take hit offers. Then again, the people who usually tried were on her list anyways. And the targets had never been as… _alluring _as this one. Technically she wouldn't take the money. She'd just use the information _he_ had provided so freely.

She lined up the target's truck with the main gates of the target's hideout: A large abandoned apartment building in one of the slum districts. Normally when she hit places like this, she wasn't as well armed. Normally when she hit places like this, they were full of nothing but addicts, dealers, and the occasional drug lab. But tonight was going to be different.

Tonight, the Punisher was going to kill Carnage.

The brown-haired woman put the pedal to the metal and the truck shot forward towards the gate with a deep roar. She pushed a pair of buttons on the dashboard, and two spouts of fire erupted from where headlights should have been, heralded by a loud _BOOM! _The two high-explosive rounds tore into the gate, leaving a large hole filled with rubble that was promptly smashed aside by the truck's heavy metal plow. The dust cleared as she drove through, and she made sure to hit a couple of the deranged criminals that super-villains tend to attract. Their screams were music to her ears.

All the rest of the henchmen knew was that a large, black truck with a skull painted on the side had just killed a couple of their allies. That was all they needed to know. "SHIT, man! She's _here!_ DUST HER!" one of the gang-bangers shouted. But it was already too late. She flung her door open and rolled out of the truck, bringing an MP5 to bear. She aimed at the criminals, and let her training take over.

_BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP! _

The opening barrage forced the criminals behind cover, cowering like the rats they were. Serena wasted no time in bolting towards the nearest criminals hiding place, tossing the sub-machine-gun aside as soon as it ran out of ammo. A hostile sprang up from behind cover, aiming a MAC-10 at her, but it was too late. Punisher closed the remaining distance with a running leap, tackling the criminal to the ground, then wrenching the weapon from his hand, likely breaking his wrist in the process.

She unloaded a short burst into his chest with the MAC before she moved on, spraying down the next criminal and systematically moving on between the next few spots of cover. She'd been clearing out dens of criminal activity for what seemed to be nearly an eternity, and she'd learned what criminals were like. The typical ones dove for cover easily. The stupid or insane ones didn't use cover at all. They rarely aimed when they didn't think they'd need it, and they all thought that they could take the five-foot-two woman in a physical fight. In fact, one such mistake was being made just now. Punisher deflected the punch with her forearm, then wrapped her arm around his and grabbed the man by the shoulder. She applied some leverage and popped the man's arm out of its socket, causing him to cry out in pain.

Criminals were simple minded. They thought that they could take whatever they wanted. They thought that they were immune to the law, because they had managed to evade it, or come through the system and return unscathed. They felt that the lives they lived were satisfying enough to warrant the sentences they served. To justify the choices they made. To outweigh the people they hurt.

They were wrong.

Punisher tackled the last criminal standing, ripping him down to her level and slamming him against the ground by the throat, a bestial snarl on her face. The criminal's eyes glanced down at the coral skull set against the cobalt backdrop of the rest of her bodysuit, before glancing up at the wide barrel of the Desert Eagle that the vigilante now pressed against his forehead.

Criminals understood, you see. They understood the way the world worked. That laws were only good for keeping the _good_ people in line. That as long as somebody cared so little, or had so little, or had so _much_ that the law's penalty was immaterial, that it was useless. They laugh. They laugh at how the only thing that's supposed to contain them only cages their prey.

Serena saw to it that they didn't laugh about her.

"Carnage," she muttered, pressing the barrel harder against the man's head. "Where is he?"

The henchmen whimpered and shook as the fire in his assailant's eyes left little doubt as to her intentions. "P-p-_please!_" he blubbered, his eyes flickering between the corpses littering the yard behind her. "He'd _kill _me if I-"

Punisher cut him off. "Whatever."

_BOOM!_

* * *

Ramona's eyes flew open at the sound of gunfire. That… that wasn't supposed to be happening! She immediately noticed the small frog statue and blinked twice. Then she realized it was probably a sign that her plan had worked… maybe? It was so tough to predict how he'd react to things now. Well, whatever it was, her suit would know. Since it had incubated in her mechanical arm, it never learned to distinguish between organic life and machinery. This meant it had a knack for identifying what machines were supposed to do, and had no qualms about incorporating metal and plastic into its own biomass. She extended a cautious tendril, hesitantly examining the figurine and eventually opening a panel on the back. There's no way he could have put it here for no reason.

_Possibility of viable escape scenario using subject components: 85%_

Ramona nodded. Not perfect, but it'd do for now. "Hit it."

At her command, the partially disassembled figurine clattered to the floor as the tendrils retreated violently back into her arm. The spider-sentries began squealing in pain as well, scurrying up to the top of the cocoon as the figurine let out a high-pitched, violent wailing sound.

_Get us out! PLEASE get us out!_ The symbiote screamed inside her head. Its terror gave her a profound headache, but as long as it was in her arm it would be relatively safe. Without the spider-sentries tending to it, the "web" began to weaken, and Ramona was able to break free.

She barely caught herself from hitting her head as she fell to the floor, and she quickly scurried over to the door, holding her robotic arm out to the bottom of the doorway. "Go, go!" she ordered. The burnt-orange symbiote left her arm, managing to flatten itself and slide under the doorway. A few moments later the steel door slid open, and Ramona dashed out into the hallway. The symbiote sprang from where it had adhered to the wall and merged with her, taking the combination keypad it had been hacking with it. Scorn shrugged as the keypad's material was absorbed and woven into her suit as more mercurial strands.

They'd likely need every bit they could get.

* * *

Unthinkable, absolutely _unacceptable!_ Carnage just thought he could simply walk in there, to _his _independently operated branch, order _his _minions around, freeze _his_ masterful plans, lock up _his_ favorite person in the whole wide world, and not even have the motherfucking courtesy to _respect his wishes about her temporary living arrangements? _

It was inconceivable, inconsiderate, impossibly presumptuous, and just plain _rude!_ Curtis donned his mask as he stomped through the hallway to the "war-room" Harper had set up elsewhere in the old, dilapidated building. Curtis may have renovated one or two spots, sure, but on the whole his New York "branch" was a true fixer upper.

He'd dealt with Carnage's bullshit because to be honest, he was kinda terrified of the being that had slaughtered Miss Marvel in such spectacular style. And that was _before_ Harper took the wheel! But you know what? Fuck it. He was the goddamned Green Goblin, he'd been fighting a _robo-symbiote_ for the past year and a half, he could take this motherfucker!

He walked past a woman packing more heat than Miami, dressed in a cobalt bodysuit with a coral skull on it. He rolled his eyes and turned around, walking backwards to speak to her. "Look, new recruits go to Human resources, three doors down that-a-way." He pointed down the hall. "Can't miss it. It's the room with the cockroaches in it. Big ones."

He turned around and was about to carry on his merry way when he suddenly heard a hammer get pulled back. He snarled and juked to the side, narrowly avoiding the bullet. "Bitch, I ain't got _time_ for this!" He dug into his bag and threw out a pumpkin bomb.

Punisher simply dodged the bomb, which detonated on impact with the wall behind her. She drew her second pistol and opened fire on the Goblin, who ducked into a door in the hall. She quickly gave chase, but before she reached the doorway the green criminal burst through the wall next to her, taking her to the ground. Bastard must have been stronger than he looked!

She was able to get some leverage and rolled him off of her before drawing a combat knife. Goblin replied by springing up onto his feet and drawing a balisong with a butterfly motif on the handle. "You wanna _dance_, lady?" He asked, waving the blade. "Alrighty then, let's DANCE!"

The two rushed each other, blades at the ready… only to have both of them be encased in a burnt-orange substance simultaneously. Their cocoon-like bindings traced all the way back to Scorn, who was standing at the far end of the hallway. She approached the two and snapped "Didn't your parents ever tell you two not to play with…" Her vision glanced down to the balisong now lying on the floor. "Curt…" He lifted the weapon with a tendril and deposited it in her hand. "Where did you get this?"

The goblin grinned sheepishly. "I found it."

Scorn moved the Green man's tendril to put his face right in front of hers.

"I found it, and don't look at it too closely." He insisted.

The orange-hero sighed and held both of her captives up in front of her. "What exactly were you two doing?"

"On my way to kill Carnage, Puddin'!" The goblin chuckled. _"Nobody _strings _my_ gir-"

"Shut up." Scorn glanced back at the Punisher. "And you?"

"On… my way to kill Carnage. Go figure." The cobalt vigilante _tried_ to shrug.

"OOH! OOH! We can make a _team sport _out of it!" The Goblin quipped, wiggling excitedly. "I call dibs on his spleen, it has the _best_ name among internal organs!"

Punisher looked over at him and gritted her teeth. "You are responsible for millions in property damage and hundreds of critical injuries on innocent people. I will use your hat as an ammo bag one day."

"Again, shut up," Scorn spat. "In this one particular instance… we all want the same thing." She lowered the two captives to the ground. "Can I trust you to not kill each-other until _after _Harper is in the ground?"

After a few moments of silence, Punisher and Goblin both nodded. Ramona lowered them to the ground and reabsorbed their bindings, before flipping the balisong around a few times. For old time's sake. Then she encased it on her hip for safekeeping.

"Alright, so we're going _this_ way then!" Green Goblin pointed over down the hallway, and the _very_ reluctant trio made swift progress to the war-room. They made quick work of the door, what with its flimsy frame, but inside the room there was…

No-one to be found.

Ramona growled and walked into the room, looking for any clues as to his whereabouts. Serena, meanwhile, had drawn her knife and tried to stab Curtis in the back. Fortunately, the chain-mail comprising his blue tunic stopped the blade. "Hey, I _seriously_ thought he'd be here.," he said defensively.

"Curtis. What the hell is this supposed to mean?" she held up a note that messily read **C****urtis- Finally found that thing I was looking for. I'm going to need more guys. Left to pick up some new recruits.**

The Goblin just shook his head. "Hell if I know!"

Just then a sound of sirens wailing blared in from the windows. As in, _way_ more than usual. Screams and yelling could also be heard, again, much more than was typical.

Punisher turned and left the room, intent on hunting the source of the disturbance. Goblin and Scorn weren't too far behind, but before they left the room, Ramona stopped them both. "You… You kept my knife?"

"Well, uh, _yeah,_" Curtis shrugged. "I mean, you forgot it. Thought I could at least keep it safe, till you came back." Then he dashed out the door. "You go on ahead, I gotta go fetch Tess!"

Ramona stood still for a moment, surprised at his response. _Until I came back…? _After a moment she shook herself out of it and walked over to the nearest window, leaping out and swinging in the direction of the uproar. As she drew closer to the source, she could see a police barricade completely failing to contain a mob of-

_Oh my god._

She swung up and landed on the edge of a building, surveying the scene below. It… it was much worse than she could have imagined. Down on the streets below, it was utter chaos. People were screaming and running for their lives, all fleeing terrified from a mob of figures all clad in red. They were attacking other people, occasionally splitting off reddish blobs of the material they wore, which would then seek out new hosts. And there, in the midst of it all, was Carnage. While the entire mob looked like him, he was unmistakable. The only one standing up straight, the only one using his symbiote with tell-tale signs of experience…

The only one laughing.

Scorn was ripped out of her reverie by the sound of crunching metal and a roaring engine: The Punisher's truck had just smashed through the barricade. It tore a path through the symbiotes, charging straight for their "leader," but it was gradually slowed by the various members of the mob latching onto it. They began ripping the van apart, only for Punisher to burst out of the back of the truck and start laying into the mob with a flamethrower. That was good, they were weaker to extreme heat and intense sounds…

"Where _does_ she find all those wonderful toys?" Ramona jumped a little to notice Curtis hovering beside her on that golden glider of his. "And here I was, thinking there wasn't gonna be enough Carnage to go around!" He shot her a wink before diving down towards street-level, while hollering "CATHARSIIIIS!" at the top of his lungs. The glider emitted a high-pitched scream at his command, causing the symbiotes he flew over to writhe in pain as he passed.

Ramona also launched herself down into the streets, her arm configuring into _some _kind of chrome weapon that she imagined her symbiote knew would hurt_._ Badly. She swung over the fray, firing an orange-colored beam at the symbiotes, and taking a number of shots at Carnage in particular.

The red-clad rioter dodged the beam, whistling in appreciation at the scorchmarks it left on the ground. He glanced back up at the Goblin and Scorn as they came around for another pass, and then glanced at the Punisher before shouting. "Well, would you just look that the unadulterated _mess_ this had turned into, huh?" He leaped down from the SWAT van he'd been standing on, and approached the cobalt vigilante. "Hello, there. What's _your_ name, girly?" he chuckled as she reached out with his claws.

But before he made contact, Serena spun around and hosed him down with a stream of liquid fire. Carnage let out a screaming roar, parts of his suit burning away, before the suits of several other rioters abandoned their hosts to reconstitute Harper's damaged symbiote. He raised up his hands, which reconfigured into massive scythe blades, and brought them back down with murderous intent. Punisher barely managed to dodge the strikes. "Name's Castle. Sound familiar?" she snarled

"Castle, Castle, that actually _does _sound familiar, hehehe…" Harper reformed his arms into large axe-blades before moving in for a few more strikes. "Think I killed a guy by that name, once! Easy job, guy could've been a boy scout for how well he fought. Name of Andrew? A-rod? Alex?" He swung again, only to hit a whole lot of air.

"AARON!" Punisher let out another spray of fire, Carnage barely managing to doge. "His name was _Aaron_, you twisted son of a bitch!"

"Oh, _seriously?_" Carnage lunged forward, slicing through the flamethrower's fuel-hose with a claw. "Revenge? _That's _your motivation?" He shot out several tendrils, immobilizing the vigilante and disarming her. "I'd _hoped_ that someone so talented would at least have a bit more _taste_ as far as inspiration." He held Serena up as if she were a piece of meat that a butcher might inspect. "_Vengeance_ is so terribly, _woefully _overdone that it just sort of loses meaning after a while, you know?" he hissed, a stench of rancid meat on his breath.

Meanwhile, Scorn and the Goblin were trying to keep the rest of the rioters under control, wearing away at the symbiote's mass while trying to keep the victims unharmed. "Dooba-doobie-dobbah-doop!" The Goblin couldn't help but smile as he herded the rioters to a certain section of the street, dodging the tendrils that reached out towards him with erratic, gut-churning maneuvers.

When Curtis had corralled all of the lesser symbiotes into a herd, Scorn leaped into action. She landed on top of an SUV, and her symbiote bonded to it through her feet. She projected a huge tangle of metallic tendrils, draining the metal from the car through her legs and into the threads, and strung it between several lamp-posts, creating a cage around the herd of symbiotes. "Alright, flush them out!" She shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Yaaaaaay!" Curtis hovered over the cage, and dumped a few more of the frog-statuettes into it out of his bag. "_Strangest_ weather we've been having!" He glided off, and the frogs let out their terrible wailing. At first the symbiotes inside went wild, pressing and snarling against the edges of their cage to try and smash their way out. When that didn't work, they abandoned their hosts, fleeing as a red, amorphous mass through the strands of the cage. The plan worked perfectly.

The Goblin and Scorn both gave chase, the latter using a heat-ray and the former unleashing a rainfall of incendiary pumpkin bombs. The excess symbiote burned away, writhing in pain as it was reduced to nothing but scorch-marks on the pavement.

Carnage's suit writhed in empathic pain, and he was tempted to devour his catch immediately. But no. The excess was replaceable. Such an _entertaining_ opportunity was unprecedented! Harper knew he'd be a complete fool to let a chance like this slip him by. He chuckled darkly before bolting to the nearest building, Punisher in tow, and quickly scaling it. "Hope you don't mind if I take this somewhere a little more _dramatic?_" He bellowed back at his other two foes.

Scorn looked up and saw Carnage making a break for it. "Oh, no you frigging _don't!" _She growled before leaping onto the side of the building in pursuit. Curtis was quick to follow, flying up at the steepest angle Tess could handle. When they had finally reached the top of the building, they found Carnage dangling Serena upside-down, wrapped in a scarlet cocoon.

"Oh, if only I had a camera!" Carnage mused as he turned to face his pursuant. "I could get me killing all three of you on tape. Oh, this is gonna hold a special place in my heart, right next to that one time with Deadpool." He glanced over at Scorn. "You remember that time, right? It was just before you left, after all." He tilted his head slightly. "Say, how _did_ you get out of that cozy little sleeping bag anyways?"

The Green Goblin shot up from the edge of the building, a set of razor-sharp blades extending from underneath his glider. "Heyo!" He shot towards the Symbiote full-bore, only to be deflected by a shield Carnage formed from his free hand.

Carnage shook with laughter. "Heheheh… Nice try, Curtis. And _excellent _timing on the betrayal, might I add, I've had just about enough of you and your stupid fixation."

"Are you fucking _serious!? _I have been an _excellent _host!" Goblin sputtered.

"No, you're fucking disgusting!" the red symbiote spat. "It's called an exterminator! HIRE ONE!"

Scorn, meanwhile, seemed to be the only one aware of their current situation. "Listen up, Harper," she said in her best attempt at a confident voice. "It's over. You're outmatched and outgunned. Submit now, or we won't hesitate to gank you where you stand."

Carnage slowly turned to face the other symbiote, a wicked, ecstatic grin on his face. "Oh, that's cute Ramona. Real cute. Give it a shot." The red-suited criminal laughed, waving the Punisher around, before stringing her up on the radio antenna at the center of the tower. He turned to face the opposition. "I think it's time I squashed some youthful rebellion." He formed several tentacles from his suit, each ending in some variety of edged weapon. "When I'm done, there won't be enough left of the Green Goblin or the _great_ "Moth-man" to fit in a _matchbox!"_

"THAT'S NOT OUR MOTHERFUCKING NAME!" Scorn shouted before leaping into the air and launching a tendril into the ground beside Carnage. She gave a swift pull on the line and shot forward, forming her robotic arm into a resonant blade. Carnage countered with a few of the bladed tentacles, slashing and stabbing at the orange-clad "hero," but she was barely able to dodge out of the way. She even managed to lop the blade off of one of the offending appendages. "WE ARE SCORN!"she swung past him and lopped off another few tentacles.

Carnage let out a roar and took to the air after her, the two swinging over and around the top of the building with the Goblin gliding not far behind. The green man tossed out a pumpkin-bomb that flew apart into several razor-sharp bat-shaped devices that whirred through the air after Carnage, but the symbiote cast a tendril to the antenna and swung around to place the Punisher between himself and the blades.

The cobalt vigilante wriggled in her bindings, and managed to build up enough momentum that the blades sliced into the webbing keeping her in place, rather than slicing her to ribbons. She hit the ground with a solid _thud_, and quickly tore the remnants of the material from her suit. With an irritated snarl, she reached over her shoulder and drew the short-barreled shotgun she had strapped there, the one loaded with incendiary rounds. Taking aim with practiced precision, she unloaded several fiery slugs at Harper.

The red-suited symbiote cast out more tendrils, altering his momentum to evade the shots. "You're going to have to try harder than that!" he hollered, before dodging a heat-ray Scorn fired at her pursuant. Then, in a completely unexpected move, he stuck a tendril on the building and swung in a complete vertical U-turn, flinging himself towards the Green Goblin and catching him by the throat with his fist. The green man was ripped clean off of his glider, which came crashing down into the rooftop.

Carnage soon followed suit, tearing a gash out of the cement with both his own feet and the Goblin's face. That gash led straight to Punisher, who shot Harper several times. "That's cute kid," the symbiote snarled before lifting the vigilante by the throat. "You know, I'm really starting to think you _actually _believed that you could _kill _me."

"I… don't… _think _it," Serena choked "I _know_ it. I'm going to kill you if it's the last thing I do on God's green earth!" Despite her predicament, the look on her face spoke only of earnest belief and smoldering resentment.

Carnage laughed darkly. "Funny you should mention that…" He began to walk towards the edge of the building, holding both the struggling Punisher and the unconscious Goblin at arm's length. "Because _I _always pictured you final moments as folding some poor car's hood inwards."

"No!" Scorn shouted, landing in the rooftop behind Harper. "Let them go, _now!_"

The red-suited man glanced back over her shoulder and shrugged. "Well, if you say so!" Without a moment's more thought, he flung both of his captives over the side of the building.

"Oh, FUCK you!" Ramona growled, grabbing Curtis's glider with a tendril and leaping over the side of the skyscraper. She dove downwards, her symbiote rapidly pulling the glider apart and molding it into a more useful form. Golden metallic tendrils extended from her back, forming a latticework in the shape of two large butterfly wings. She cast out two orange tendrils out to the falling figures, pulling them close and tucking one under each arm by their waists. An orange membrane spanned the gaps in the golden latticework, and the glider's engine reappeared in a sleeker design sitting on Scorn's back between the two "wings."

They were approaching the ground rapidly, and Ramona fired off the engine, tilting her wings to pull up out of their fall. She horsed the rig back as much as she could, straining to keep her focus through the screaming of her over-taxed symbiote. But still the ground came ever-closer.

"_We won't make it!" _Punisher shouted, sounding almost accusative in her tone.

In a last moment decision, Ramona cut the engine and enveloped her wings around the three of them, re-forming them into a protective cocoon with a chrome-and-gold plated shell. The pod crashed into the asphalt, tearing a trail of rubble and sparks to where it finally stopped after crashing into one of the police roadblocks.

The outside of the metal shape was scratched and dented, and a few of the nearby police approached it, cautiously. After a few anxious moments, the metal receded, revealing a blob of burnt-orange material. The blob receded back to envelop only Scorn, revealing Green Goblin and Punisher. The three of them were heavily bruised, but otherwise seemed alright.

"That… was… _disgusting_," Serena groaned. She snorted a few times. "I think some of it went up my _nose_." She rose shakily to her feet, and the police recoiled at the sight of the skull on her chest. It would seem as though her reputation wasn't limited to strictly street thugs or gang-members.

"You know, I thought she'd be taller," One of the officers mumbled.

Scorn managed to get on her feet, and held up a hand as another policeman attempted to cuff the Goblin. "You know that won't work." She shot a quick binding around his hands. "We'll get him to the station. You guys get to helping the civilians."

One of the officer's nodded quickly. "Got it, Moth-man."

"THAT'S NOT OUR NAME!" Ramona shouted, the officers recoiling at her reaction. "That's… It's Scorn, alright?"she apologetically added.

"Got it." The senior officer there turned to face the others. "Well? You heard the lady. Get on it."

"What about Carnage?" one of the men asked.

"He's not down here trying to kill us right now. That means it was a diversion." Serana surmised before trudging back to her truck. "He'll be long gone by now."

"And what about _her?_" an officer asked, nodding towards the Punisher.

"Hey, _you_ think we should arrest her? _Good luck."_ One of the senior officers replied. Serana climbed in her truck, and pulled out of the scene unhindered.

Scorn soon left the scene of the disturbance with the Goblin under an arm, swinging up to the roof of a building and pausing to think. She glanced towards the route to the police station. Curtis would be found guilty, of course, and he'd be out of her hair. For a week or two, at least. Then he reached down to her hip and retrieved the balisong stored there. She flipped the butterfly knife around a few times…

Then she leaped from the building and swung down the street, heading towards her apartment.


End file.
